She lives very, very far away, or so it seems. The intriguing part is that I’m not able to visit her. She needs to visit me, and she sometimes does. She will often arrive for the weekend wearing her bright, colorful outfits with floral designs or a simple pattern.

Another intriguing part is that there’s little conversation. Words don’t seem to interest her. She never asks me what I’ve been up to or how I’m feeling. I think she already knows. We both mainly look outside or stroll with no destination in mind.

For me, there’s something elusively available about our relationship. I know it sounds contradictory, but I often feel that way. I realize the distance between us, yet continue to feel her presence when the weekend ends.

I’m reminded of her during work and other encounters. It’s so easy for us all to divide up people and situations, usually divided up according to our whims and wishes. That control stuff of ours really controls us and makes her distance even further. No wonder there are drug store racks full of pills to cover or soften but never eliminate those controls.

Intriguing, for a third time, I don’t think she’s ever been in a drug store—no need for it. I don’t think Walgreens would let her in; bad for business.

I often attempt to figure her out so I can control her, as I do everything and everyone else. Nada. Can’t be done.

I am never so relaxed, appreciative, and kind to myself and others when I think of her or on those special visiting weekends with her.

Oh, silly me. I forgot to tell you her name. It’s Joy. How far away from your home does Joy live?